


I Get Off

by JadeDjo



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Did I mention there is smut?, Dom/sub Play, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Light Dom/sub, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 00:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18128690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeDjo/pseuds/JadeDjo
Summary: “He could have called you ‘Master.’ Like I do sometimes.” Mara's voice was a smoky purr in his ear. Her arms slipped around Luke’s waist from behind.Luke smiled. “I don’t think it would be the same as when you do it.”“It better not be … Skywalker.” Luke jumped as one of her hands gave his stomach a slap.— 	Destiny’s Way, Chapter 3. by Walter Jon WilliamsJust how does Mara call Luke 'Master'? In the sexiest way possible.





	I Get Off

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evilmouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmouse/gifts).



> Title from the song 'I Get Off' by Halestorm
> 
> The beginning of this story is from _[4 Times Mara noticed Luke's Feet and 1 Time Luke Noticed Mara's](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17911232)_ I just expanded on Luke's section. You don't need to have read that to understand this story buy maybe go check it out for the Mara bits :)
> 
> Big thanks to [evilmouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmouse) for being an awesome beta and cheering me on to finish this. You rock sistah!

The first time Luke ever pays attention to Mara’s feet, he should have been paying attention to everything else.

They are undercover, trying to track down slavers near Antioch. A tip from Karrde has led them to this club that caters to more--and Luke was being generous--masochist tastes. Black leather and shiny metal were everywhere. But that also meant that Mara’s outfit is not out of place. Just incredibly distracting. To him.

He doesn’t normally pay attention to her feet. Outside of training or combat situations that is. She likes to use her legs and feet to sweep, kick, or leap in complicated spins, and twist to throw off opponents. But normally, he rarely notices. Even her bare feet, although she has admitted that his are a turn on for her, don't warrant much notice. But what she has on her feet now makes him tighten his mental shields and struggle for control of his hormones like he’s 18 again.

Because how can he concentrate on the mission while she is wearing shiny black boots that are like a second skin and reach mid-thigh? With platforms on the toes giving her at least two extra inches, and heels that look more like metal spikes then something to be walked on giving her another six inches in addition. This means she is taller than him by a few inches. Add in the lacing that goes from ankle to thigh, giving him a peek of skin, the entire length of her leg has his insides turning into a puddle of desire and that isn’t even taking into account the dress she wears.

It is a shiny black material to match the boots, hugging her skin like it is painted on and squeezes her breasts so they create alluring curves between the low-cut front that goes almost to her navel. The hem starts at least two inches above the top of the boots, and her arms are bare, as the top of the dress snakes behind her neck. It is all held on with more black lacing going up each side from thigh to armscye giving more glimpses of skin and telling him, and everyone else, that there is nothing on beneath.

All the black is a stark contrast to her pale skin.  The flashing lights of the club make her hair a cascading flame down her back.

He wears something similar, skin-tight, black, and shiny. But other than a nod of approval from her, his disguise doesn’t seem to be giving her the same problems hers is giving him, making him use every mind clearing exercises he knows to contain his arousal.

This whole situation started before they even left the _Jade Sabre,_ when she threw him some clothes with orders to get dressed as she disappeared into the refresher. After he finished shimmying into the tight pants and vest, he only had to wait a moment more before she appeared in the refresher door.  His eyes reflexively traveled the length of her body and back. She passed him with a slight pat on the cheek and he could only follow along behind like an obedient pet. So, he should have known he was in trouble as they exited the Sabre and her heels clicked a sharp staccato on the permacrete, making him take notice. Following the sound up her legs, he watched enthralled as her ass swished back and forth as her legs made sure and confident strides on what looked like precarious footwear.

It wasn’t until she called his name that he realized he hadn’t followed her across the landing pad.  Instead, just standing at the bottom of the ramp watching her walk. “You can indulge later Farmboy,” she called, bringing him out of his mesmerizing daze.

He jerked and raised his gaze to her face, dark makeup around her eyes making the green even more vibrant, and a deep red lipstick emphasizing her smirk. She was fully aware of the effect she was having on him. “Later,” she promised, and continued her sashay, ahem, walk, out the docking bay. He may be almost 40 but it was times like these that he still felt like that boy fresh off the farm.

Remembering her promise is not helping him maintain his concentration during the mission.

The throbbing bass coming from a multitude of speakers beats in time with his madly pumping heart as Luke follows Mara to a private table in the back where they are to meet their contact. The openly sexual gyrations of the throng of dancers only fuel his imagination regarding what he and his wife will be doing once they are back on board the ship.

Finally, they reach their destination. A table in the far back reaches of the club, partially hidden by shadows. The booth is empty as Mara has him slide in first before positioning herself onto his lap, angled so she can see whomever approaches. Great. He reflexively put his arms around her.

“How long do you think we’ll have to wait before our contact shows?” he asks by way of distraction. _Think of the mission_. Think of the ship full of malnourished slaves Kyp had found after chasing off some pirates in the Tib’inani Sector. Think of the mothers asking after their stolen children. Don’t think of how Mara has started stroking his hair, dyed dark brown for the mission. Don’t think of the curve of her ass pressing against his cock. Don’t think of the fact that her breasts are right next to his chin, just waiting to be sucked and fondled.

“Soon,” she answers into his ear to be heard over the music and it takes him a moment to realize Mara is talking about their contact and not about letting him touch her breasts, which are now very close to his mouth.

“How soon?” because there was no way he is waiting around all night. He has other plans.

“Patience,” she coos into his ear again before taking his earlobe into her mouth, scraping her teeth against it.

That sends a jolt of electricity straight to his cock and she would have to be dead not to feel it pressing against her ass.

When she pulls back he tries to kiss her but she puts a finger against his lips, “Later, I said.”

“You’re going to kill me,” he tells her, running his hand along her black-clad leg and up beneath the hem of her dress, following the curve of her backside. Yep. No undergarments. “You know that, right?”

“That was always the plan,” she purrs. He dares to peek through his shields to the place in his mind that holds their bond, hoping that she is as affected by their surroundings as he is. But when he touches that Mara place in his mind, he finds only a hint of teasing mixed with desire. None of the raging lust currently afflicting him.

His head falls against the back of the booth. “You’re evil.”

“And you’ll thank me for it later,” she tells him as she straightens and all teasing falls away as cool professionalism replaces it.

Their contact has arrived.

~~~~ 

Luke stands in the center of their cabin, watching as Mara walks around him. It was as much a visual show for him as it was for her. He just wishes the floor wasn’t carpeted so he could hear the click, click, click of her boots as she makes her inspection. 

They had returned to the _Jade Sabre_ after the meet with two hours to wait until the contact shows again, ready to give them the possible location of the slavers base. Until then, they have to wait, and Luke has no plan to be idle during that time. 

But when he and Mara had arrived to the privacy of their cabin and he reached for her, she gently slapped his hands away, moving just out of arm's reach. 

“It’s not going to be that easy Skywalker,” Mara retorts and starts slowly circling him, seductively swaying her hips. “You’ll have to work for it this time.” 

He thinks he knows where this is going and is eager to comply. Their usual brand of lovemaking was an equal give and take. Sometimes one or the other would take the lead--but still equal. If he’s right, this will be a complete submission. 

“Whatever you say,” he agrees, her constant movement making him restless to begin as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, the front of his pants uncomfortably tight. He already had to wait an hour at the club, Mara wiggling--most likely on purpose--on his lap, until they could make it back to the privacy of the ship. 

Stopping in front of him, looking down into his eyes from her high-heeled position, she shakes her head, sending red-gold hair swirling about her shoulders. Grabbing his chin with black painted nails even shinier than her outfit, she declares, “Yes Mistress.” 

He hadn’t been paying attention, too intent on admiring the shape of her body, clad in gleaming black leather, that his confused, “What?” slips out before he can process what she’s said. 

“If we’re going to do this then you will call me ‘Mistress’. Understood?” she enunciates and the deep red of her lipstick makes him pay close attention. 

He nods, those nails dig into his chin,  and says, “Yes, Mistress.” 

“Good,” and she rakes her nails through the goatee he’s been growing--to her amusement--after releasing his face to continue her slow circuit around him. 

“Rule number one: I’m in charge. You will do what I say without question.” 

“Yes, Mistress.” 

“Rule two: no use of the Force. We will both remain behind our shields for the rest of the session.” 

Even as he tightens his mental shields, he dismays over the loss of contact with her mind. During sex their bond could intensify emotion and physical responses. He could know instantly what she wanted--the where and how to give her pleasure. In a way, it was a crutch that she had just kicked out from beneath him.. 

“I didn’t hear you,” she says, giving his butt a light smack, surprising him. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

“Yes, Mistress.” he obediently says, anticipation at what she has planned growing. 

“Good. Rule number three: you will command me.” 

“But…” he starts, before she quickly interrupts. 

“What is rule one?” 

“That you are in charge, Mistress.” 

“And…?” 

“I will do what you say without question.” 

“So what should be the proper response to rule three?” 

“Yes, Mistress.” As he answers her, she stops in front of him again, not touching, not speaking. 

Waiting. 

Waiting for him to command her. This is not something he ever expected to be able to do. Her life as the Emperor’s Hand made him conscious of the fact that she once was in a position of subjugation and he never wanted her to ever feel that from him. But here, now, she has just given him permission. In playing the dominant she has reversed the rules and made him in command of the direction of this game. Giving her acceptance and trust that he won't abuse the position she’s put him in. The rush of love that he feels nearly overwhelms him and the remnants of a fantasy he’s had swirls up from the far reaches of his memories. Unsure that he would ever be able to act on it, he’s kept it locked away, but now it may just be all right to bring it to light. 

He nods his silent understanding of what she is offering, and the responsibility he is accepting as he dictates: “Master.” 

Luke knew this would be the first test of trust, of committing completely to the role and bringing his fantasy to life.  She was no longer Mara, only his Mistress. And he would serve her not as Luke, but as her Master. The power in the title not as a mentor, but in control of her and her pleasure. 

He waits a heartbeat that seems to last an eternity. Without the bond, he has only his regular senses to tell him if he has blundered before they even begin. Staring into her eyes he finds the approval he’s looking for, as they sparkle in amusement and her lips quirk. He gives an inward sigh of relief that she harbors no ill connotations with the title and is accepting of this aspect of the game. In fact, she parrots his title back with a smoky purr. 

“Master.”   

Tongue darting to the corner of her mouth, her reddened lips part with an enticing sigh after she says it. 

A shiver runs down his spine and his erection twitches. Never once has she called him ‘Master’ in such a tone of pure sexual want. She rarely uses the title to begin with -- only in the most formal of circumstances or with students. With him it is always ‘Luke,’ ‘Farmboy,’ or ‘Skywalker’ when she is aggravated with him. The only time she’s ever spoken to him as her Master, her mentor, was at the completion of her training, during her Knighting ceremony. After hearing it here, her normal husky voice turning rich and shameless, giving the final r a small trill, he never wants to hear it from her any other way again. 

He swallows. _I’m in command_ , he reminds himself. But she is in charge. She could interpret his commands any way she wishes. 

“Remove your dress but keep the boots on. Slowly,” he tells her, watching, breath quickening in anticipation, eyes on her hands as she brings them up to her chest. Leisurely she glides them between her cleavage to a hidden fastening at the bottom of the V created by the front of the dress. ‘Dress’ he scoffs to himself. More like strips of glossy fabric tied on with string. 

“Yes, Master,” she says demurely, eyes lowered and looking at him through her lashes, slowly pulling down the fastening until the material parts to reveal soft, creamy skin. As soon as it is open, she shrugs it off her shoulders to fall at her feet. What is left is a completely unobstructed view of her naked torso. Breasts that had been confined in the tight, hot, black leather are free, the nipples hardening instantly in the cool air of the cabin. They rise and fall in a steady rhythm with her breathing, which is deeper and faster than normal. 

Tearing his eyes from her chest, he begins a slow circuit around her as she had done to him only a moment before. Letting his eyes roam her toned body. The planes of her skin, smooth over wiry muscles, show none of the strength and flexibility he knows she possesses. Those who did not know her well would think her healthy but not strong, right before she threw them across the room. Without the Force. She had a dancer’s body, and he liked to think of their sparring as a deadly dance with lightsabers. It is a body that he can never get enough of. 

His hands reach out to ghost over her shoulders and down her spine. But he waits to touch. Bringing his hands back to his sides as he makes one, then two, then three revolutions, visually drinking his fill. Every time he passes her face, he checks to see if she is bored or uncomfortable. Every time he sees only wry amusement mixed with arousal. A smirk at her lips growing more insolent with each pass. 

As he completes the third circuit, he stops in front of her again and orders, “Undress me.” 

“Yes, Master.”  Her eyes stay on his as she steps up to run smooth hands over his chest until they reach the fastenings of his vest. They glide down with the zipper to his waist, then both part the black leather and touch the skin of his stomach, rubbing through the sparse hair that trails down into his pants. The contact makes his insides twist with yearning for her hands to continue and remove his pants, freeing him from their confines. To cup and fondle him. But instead, they travel up his chest, rubbing his nipples and over the muscles of his shoulders, removing the leather vest he wears at the same time. During the whole interlude, her eyes never leave his, communicating without words or the Force, making him focus only on her face to read those expressive, wanton eyes. And that just won’t do. 

As her hands glide down his back and around to the fastenings to his pants he commands, “Stop.” 

She does, but leaves her hands just an inch from his crotch. “Yes, Master?” 

“Find a cloth or belt. Something that can be used as a blindfold.” 

She removes her hands, giving him a slight bow, eyes still not leaving his, full of mischief, and says, “Yes, Master,” before going to the closet to retrieve the requested item. Freed from the spell of her eyes, this gives him a view of her bare ass as she walks, still so sure on those incredibly thin heels. One foot in front of the other, the rise and fall of each cheek as she walks leaves his breath a bit strained. He takes a deep breath as she opens the closet and bends at the waist looking for something to make a blindfold with. All he can see is the shine on the boots supporting that extraordinary ass. 

After too short a time she stands up and turns to show him what she found:  a blood-red shimmersilk scarf that Leia gave to her for their 4 th wedding anniversary. Folded lengthwise, it will be opaque enough that she won’t be able to see clearly. 

“Good, bring it here,” he instructs, mesmerized as her breasts bounce slightly as she walks back to him, the blood pounding in his cock with each bounce, stopping just before him and presenting the scarf. 

“Will this please you Master?” she asks, holding the scarf out for his inspection 

Taking it, he folds it to his satisfaction and hands it back to her. “Put this over your eyes.” 

She gives him a sly smile, fully into the game, and raises the scarf over her eyes, securing it behind her head. As she ties it in place, he once again drops his eyes to her breasts, reaching his left hand up to cup one full mound, running a thumb over the nipple. Her breath gives a small intake as his thumb and forefinger pinch the sensitive peak. 

When she’s finished with the blindfold, he drops his hands, “Now kiss me.” 

“Yes, Master. Where would you like me to kiss you?” she asks with a chaste tone, as if clueless as to what he could mean, but letting him know he needs to be specific for the game to continue. 

“My cock.” And he opens the front of the pants he’s still wearing, freeing himself from its restrictive confines. 

It falls forward, thick and jutting from his body as she takes one small step forward before sinking into a smooth crouch, like water spilling into a hidden pool. Legs splayed, hands on her thighs, she says, tilting her face up at him, “Yes, Master.” 

Unsure how she would find his stiff length without hands or eyes, he watches her lean forward and take a deep breath. Smelling his sex and the precum already leaking from his tip. She plants a small kiss on the underside of his cock, and then another midway up, and another at the tip, licking the liquid she finds there from her lips, making him briefly close his eyes for control. After she kisses him a few more times he commands, “Now, suck it.” 

As soon as he speaks, she surrounds him with her mouth, taking him in nearly to his base until she slides back to the tip, sucking it for a moment before retaking him. Gasping as her tongue slides against him and swirls around his head, teasing, stroking, inflaming him to new heights. The hard-on he’d had while they were at the club, even with her on his lap, was nothing compared to this. When she gently scrapes her teeth along the entire length of his erection it takes all his will not to thrust into the recesses of her throat. 

Sucking in a breath, he tries to form words through the blood pounding in his ears. 

“Use…” he gasps as she sucks extra hard and lets him pop out of her mouth before taking him in again. “Use… your hands,” he breathes out, watching her head bob on his cock. “Touch my …,” but she already moved her hands to his thighs and around to grab his ass.  Then she dips in the waistband to pull his pants down farther and grab skin; holding him to her, digging her nails in as her ministrations increase in speed. He wants to buck his hips into that oh-so-talented mouth, but he stands still as stone while she works him, kneading his ass with her hands and urging on his orgasm with her mouth. 

“Wait,” he mutters, grabbing a handful of her hair and gently removing her mouth, pinching his erection with his other hand at the base. It hurts a little, but the mounting pleasure that signaled his orgasm fades to a more manageable level. He doesn’t want this to be over already. Not before he’s had his own fun. 

“Master?” she asks, with innocence in her voice, as if she didn’t know just how she was affecting him. 

“Not yet,” he tells her, a little breathless. “I’m not done with you yet.” 

“Yes, Master,” she acquiesces and the purr with the trilled R is back. Oh, she knew _exactly_ what she was doing to him. Time to turn the tables. 

Taking a step back and pulling his pants back over his butt, he instructs, “Stand up and go to the bed. Once there, you will sit on the edge, feet on the ground.” 

She gets effortlessly to her feet, getting out of the crouch like a feather on the wind. Without turning she walks backwards to the bed until she feels it press against her boots and sits down. However, she sits like she’s at a meeting or visiting friends. Legs together, hands on top of her thighs, back straight. He will need to fix that. 

“Spread your legs, as wide as you can go,” he tells her, as he sits before her as if in meditation. In a twisted kind of way, he _is_ going to meditate, on her cunt. 

She can’t see him with the blindfold still on, but she gives him a wicked smile as she spreads her legs, knees practically touching the edge of the bed. That flexible body on perfect display. Perhaps she’s anticipating what he is going to tell her to do or perhaps she is just that salacious. Since she’s never been shy in bed, he’s going to go with the latter. 

In a meditation pose, his face is nearly level with her sex. Her folds are glistening with her juices and he aches to bury himself in what he knows to be a hot, slick, heaven. But, _not yet_ . This isn’t just about his pleasure. He wants her begging for him to fuck her by the end. 

Her hands are still resting on her splayed thighs when he says, “Take your hands and touch yourself.” 

“Yes, Master,” she says innocently, but her hands stay put. “Where would you like me to touch myself?” 

He wants her to bury her fingers in her own sex but that’s too easy. On both of them. “Run your hands up your body and fondle your breasts,” he clarifies. Once she gets aroused, her nipples become incredibly sensitive, and even without their Force bond he knows she is very turned on by this whole game. 

Watching with rapt attention as her hands ghost up her thighs, to her hips, then ribs before reaching the glorious mounds of her chest. But she doesn’t just grab them. No, she lightly strokes the undersides a few times before moving in a circular motion around her nipples, down through her cleavage and back to stroking their base, cupping them in her hands. Avoiding her nipples completely. The black polish on her fingernails in stark contrast to her skin. He allows it for a few rotations as he idly strokes himself, not trying for too much stimulation. Then orders, “Now rub your nipples.” 

On the downward stroke where she was grazing between her breasts, she now runs the backs of her fingers over her nipples, eliciting a quick intake of breath and her head involuntarily falling back. 

“Again,” he commands. She repeats the process and sighs this time. 

He has her repeat it one more time before saying, “Now pinch your nipples.” 

“Aaaaaah,” she moans as she complies. The sound travels right through him like a drum beat and his pulse quickens, his strokes on his cock becoming more purposeful. She has never been much of a talker during sex, calling him the chatty one. Probably why she put him in command. But she is hardly silent. Her moans, groans, gasps, and words of encouragement always send his heart fluttering. 

So, when another moan escapes her lips, he orders, “From here on you will be silent. You may say ‘Yes, Master’ or ‘No, Master’ but no other sounds will be made.” 

This was the real test of his commands. She was _never_ silent during sex. Even the one time he fingered her in an empty corridor on Yavin IV, where anyone could walk by, even though it was late at night, he had to cover her mouth with his own to stifle her noises of pleasure. This was a test, and she knew it as he watched her part her oh-so-red lips in hesitation before saying, “Yes, Master.” She licks her lips again before pressing them together, but this time he could tell it was more from uncertainty then seduction as she continues to stroke her breasts and tweak her nipples. 

Time to up the ante. “Now take one hand and stroke your cunt, spread your juices over your clit.” 

“Yes, Master,” she says with an eagerness in her tone making him lean forward in anticipation. He watches in growing, voyeuristic fascination as she clenches her jaw before her right-hand slides down her body and through the dark red strands covering her sex. He can tell when her fingers reach her clit and begin stroking along her opening and back, hearing the small intake of breath through her nose, but he can’t see as well as he anticipated. 

“Lie back on the bed,” he says. The move is smooth and effortless as she uses her stomach muscles to slowly lower herself, left hand never leaving her breast and right still stroking through her own slick nectar. This provides the view he was looking for as she slips her second and third fingers into herself before rubbing them against her sensitive bud and then repeating the process. 

The hand on his cock has gone from simple caresses to harder strokes. It takes a huge effort to return to gentler touches as he continues to watch his mistress pleasure herself. 

With her new position lying back on the bed, it takes him a moment to realize the hand on her chest has stopped, her sole focus is at the center of her lust. “Use both hands to touch your cunt,” he urges. 

When her left-hand joins the right in its ministrations, he swears he hears a tiny whimper. He knew it. “Rub faster,” he orders, as his own hand increases speed on his dick, anticipation in her breaking his rule leaving him breathless. 

It only takes a few seconds before he hears it again, a quickly choked-off groan. She is close. 

“Stop!” he declares and she gasps out a moaned, “Aaah.” Even as her hands follow his command. 

“Did you just say something?” he asks, standing up. 

“No, Master?” she says questioningly, as if she is unsure herself. 

“I believe I heard you moan. I said no noise except ‘yes Master’ or ‘no Master’.” He’s standing between her legs now, looking down at her blindfolded face. “Take off the blindfold.” She reaches up to remove the scarf and her eyes go directly to his hands on his erection before looking up through her lashes at him. 

“I’m going to give you another chance,” he tells her, leaning over her on the bed and planting hands on either side of her head. “But if you fail me you will not get what you desire most.” 

“Yes, Master,” and the lascivious look is back. He leans in close, close enough to kiss should she just raise her head an inch off the bed. She doesn’t and he takes a deep breath next to her neck, the smell of sweat, soap, and sex filling his lungs, but he doesn't taste her skin. He has another pleasurable flavor waiting for him. 

Breathing in her scent again, blowing puffs of air along her sensitized skin, he works his way down her body. He sees the muscles of her abdomen bunch and flex with each breath before he reaches his ultimate goal. 

She props herself on her elbows to get a better view as he kneels before her, running his hands up her still shiny, black-clad legs. Thumbs running against her inner thighs once he reaches bare skin, stopping before reaching her soaking wet heat. 

“Remember, my Mistress,” he tells her. “One more sound out of you and I won’t let you come. I’ll finish myself off and leave you wet and wanting. Understand?” 

She sucks in a breath as his left thumb lightly brushes her outer folds, but nods agreement, not chancing a verbal one. He keeps eye contact with her as he parts her labia and presses his thumb to her clit, rubbing slow circles against it. White teeth flash as she sucks in her bottom lip and bites. Eyes falling half closed, keeping her vocalizations at bay. 

He smirks before ducking his head and licks her from the base of her cunt to the clit. 

Her hips buck and he grabs them as her ass squirms. She breathes hard through her nose, not letting one sound escape. He continues licking, tasting the spicy flavor of her sex, before paying special attention to her clit. The bud is engorged and jutting from its hood and even the smallest suck is enough for his lover to grind herself against his mouth. 

Smiling to himself as she drips on his face, he gives her a small reprieve before inserting two fingers into the liquid silk of her body. Sliding them in and out as his tongue flicks at her clit, listening as her breathing becomes more and more ragged. He gives her credit--this is the quietest she’s ever been, he knows she’s close. The grinding of her hips and the quick gasps of breath like she’s hyperventilating all tell him it’s time to make his move. Cocking the fingers in her in a ‘come hither’ gesture, he gives her bud another hard suck, teeth nipping gently. It’s enough. 

“Oooooohhh,” she cries and he pulls away before she can orgasm. Then “NO!” as she gives up completely at the loss of his ministrations. 

“I warned you, my Mistress,” he scolds looking down at her, the hand that is wet with her juices sliding over his own sex. “Now you have to watch me….” 

“Please, Master, please,” she begs. He can tell this isn’t just her playing the game. She has become the supplicant begging for release, pleading with him to satisfy her. 

“Why should I?” 

“Because… I want you. Buried in me. Make me scream. Don’t you want to fuck me, Master?” Her back is up off the bed and her hands reach out for his hips, but he steps back before she can touch him, still fisting his dick. Her eyes briefly flick down as if gauging how far along he is before returning to his face. 

He wants nothing better than to bury himself in her, but he keeps his distance, keeping her guessing at what he decides, letting the anticipation build. He lets the moment drag out, even letting a small moan of his own escape him as he touches himself, seeing in her eyes the realization that he really is going to come without her. 

Another few pumps of his fist before he says, “Turn over. Hands on the bed and ass in the air.” 

The impish smile she gives him as she complies is pure satisfaction, knowing that he wouldn’t be so cruel as to not finish her off. He thinks that she played him with that pleading look, but then she presents her backside to him and he couldn’t care less.  He caresses her ass and shifts her feet further apart so she is at just the right height. Normally this position doesn’t work well. With her standing off the edge of the bed in bare feet, she’s just not tall enough for everything to line up. But with 8 inches added to her height from those obscenely hot boots, their bodies line up perfectly. 

Running his hands over her backside, he lets himself enjoy the feeling of her smooth skin under his work-roughened hands. The hands of a moisture farmer from a desert world. Coarse and worn from sun and sand, cuts and callouses from fixing machinery to lightsaber training. Knowing his Mistress enjoys it as the skin pebbles from the sensation. He’d once asked if she minded the rough texture only for Mara to assure him that, no, she didn’t mind and if she had wanted smooth hands she could have picked some courtier or pampered businessman, not a working man. One who used his hands to help others and not himself. 

Even his artificial right hand, which is an exact duplicate of his left. Including the small scar on the palm he'd gotten as a boy. But even though it looks the same, right down to the texture of the synth-skin, it wasn't as sensitive. The right could transmit to his brain the warmth and smoothness of her skin, but not the fine detail that made him harden at the thought of touching her. It can register the wetness of her juices, but not the slick, silky texture that lets him glide in and out of her body. 

Thus it was his left that he uses to continue caressing her, not sure if it is for her pleasure or his own, smoothing it over the bare skin a few times more as he uses his right to align himself at her slippery entrance. 

In advance of penetrating her, he warns, “You had better be screaming by the end.” And with one swift thrust, he sheaths himself in liquid silk. Her mouth on him is great, but this is beyond anything as they both cry out. 

He's buried in deep. Deeper than he can ever remember being, and it’s glorious. The snug heat of her body replacing the cool air of the cabin as her inner walls surround him, flexing as she squeezes those muscles against him, tightening herself even more. As much as he would like to stay and let her tease him, he has other things in mind.  He begins a steady rhythm, extracting himself from her body only to slam back inside. The air contrasts with the warmth of her cunt, sending tingles along his cock with each thrust. “You’re so wet,” he exclaims, as the flesh of her ass hits his hips as she pushes back with each thrust, trying to draw him in even deeper. Her cries of pleasure get louder and longer every time they meet. 

“Who do you serve?” he demands, completely lost in the role after a particularly hard thrust into her cunt, the viscous lubricant of her body beginning to drip down his dick and into his pants, as if his legs weren’t sweaty enough. 

“You, Master,” she pants. “Only you.” 

The breathless quality of her voice combined with her beseeching tone make him all the more inflamed with the need to hold dominance over her. He runs his right hand along her back, gently forcing her down onto her face, changing the angle of his penetration. With the side of her face against the bed and her ass still in the air he begins a new and frenzied pace. They are both so close and this seems to allow him to go even deeper. 

Her cries fill the room, “Yes, yes, yes. YES!” She exclaims with each deep drive of his hips. 

“You are no one else’s,” he pants, the pressure in his cock building. “Only mine.” She is his just as he is hers. 

“Yes… Master.” she agrees with breathless abandon. “Only…..yours.” 

“What do you want my Mistress?” 

“Release me!” 

He reaches around and between her legs, fingertips brushing her clit. “YES!” she yells, then, “More!” 

He removes his hand, “More what?” 

“Rub me….more, Master,” she pleads, wiggling her butt against him. “Harder, faster.” 

He obliges and reaches for her again. The only problem is his cock can’t get a hard enough thrust up into her, so he settles for short quick motions in time with his fingers. The abbreviated movements are creating a rush of sensation along the length of his erection and he’s not sure how much longer he can last. But he needs to hold out just a bit more. The mewing noises coming from her tell him she’s on the edge, but she still hasn’t screamed for him. 

He withdraws with his tip posed at her entrance, ready to drive in again, left-hand hovering just above her bud. “You haven’t screamed for me like you promised, my Mistress.” 

Her breaths are short and ragged as she confesses, “Do it Master and I’ll scream.” 

Without giving her time to expect it he slams back into her core, holding her hips against him with his right hand while his left flicks and rubs. Her walls clench around him and he gives her one last tweak. “Come now!” 

The sounds of her orgasm fill the cabin as her voice mirrors the wave after wave of pure sensation rolling through her body. The screams she gives him travel straight to his cock--still buried deep within her. He nearly loses himself to the sound. She’s still quivering as he begins his hectic pace again, pumping in and out while her hypersensitive body shakes with the renewed sensations. 

“I love your ass,” He moans as he pounds against her. “You like it when I pound you from behind. So hot, so wet!” 

Whether she responds or not he can’t tell, he is utterly lost to the feel of her body around him. It’s only a few strokes later that he feels the tension build and expand through his cock, as all thought is concentrated to a near painful yet wholly pleasurable pressure just waiting to unleash… 

He pulls out completely just as his brain shuts off. Satisfaction pulses through him as his cock shoots out sticky, white, streams of cum against her ass. It feels as if he’s coming forever as he empties himself against her, but it can’t be more than a few seconds, leaving him completely drained. All strength leaves his legs and he falls to his knees, head resting against the back of her thighs, worshiping at the altar of her sex. _Aren’t the stars supposed to be outside the hull?_

When his support moves away, he realizes he’s dozed off for a few seconds. Falling back against the bed, he watches as Mara, still in the provocative boots, moves toward the small refresher attached to their cabin. His world is still spinning when he notices that the black boots are back. He looks up. Up into the highly amused visage of his wife holding out a warm, damp cloth so he can clean himself. What he really needs is a shower, he thinks, as a drop of sweat slides down his back to join the rest beneath the waistband of his pants. But Luke takes the cloth for now with a nod of thanks, levering himself to sit on the bed and clean off best he can. 

Presumably, Mara has already cleaned up, as she sits before her dresser and begins unlacing the boots. “I know you want a shower,” she tells him, and he nods, not trusting himself with coherent speech yet. “But you might have to wait till after the contact leaves.” She glances at the chrono. “They’ll be here in 15 minutes.” 

He takes a deep breath, urging his blood pressure to return to normal. “There is no way I’m staying in these sticky pants a moment longer,” Luke disagrees, finding the energy to stand. He only wobbles a little as blood rushes back to the rest of his body. 

“You’re the one who wanted his pants left on,” she says in a sing-song voice as she removes the left boot and begins on the right. 

On the way to the refresher, he leans on the back of her chair to whisper in her ear, “Just where have you been hiding these?” waving a hand at the shiny black pile on the floor and nuzzles her neck. 

“They’re not mine,” Mara says, as she turns in her seat to look at him; the expression she gives him is pure mischievous amusement. “But I’ll tell Shirlee how much you like them.” 

He may never be able to look Shirlee Faughn in the eye again.  
  
  



End file.
